


Uncharted Waters

by Kohaku1977



Category: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 06:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13025613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kohaku1977/pseuds/Kohaku1977
Summary: In which Stephen acquires a curious apparatus, Jack has Spotted Dog and confessions are made.





	Uncharted Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Addison R (beyond_belief)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!

**Chapter One, in which Stephen acquires a curious apparatus, and Jack is immensely pleased with himself.**

Stephen came into the stern cabin without bothering to knock on the door. Jack looked up from a myriad of papers, and smiled widely.

“My dear doctor!” he cried.

Stephen raised a hand to stop him from talking and Jack obeyed instantly. He shut his mouth again and blinked at the flustered man expectantly.

“I found a most curious apparatus on my desk. Do you have any idea who could have put it there,” Stephen inquired.  
“Why, yes, of course. I did.” When the doctor merely raised an eyebrow, Jack continued: “You seemed downcast ever since that last storm swept away half of your precious plants; those suckling plants you got in South Africa if I remember correctly.”

”The succulent plants were nibbled at by rats. The lichens were the ones ruined by salt water. I had hoped to make an ointment out of them but they got spoilt before I had the change to experiment with them.”

“Ah,” Aubrey said, “See? How unfortunate. For you and for my men to whom your ointment may have proven advantageous. That’s why I got you this… curious… this box. I was told it’s for transporting plants that need to be kept moist and at an even temperature, not to say slightly warm. The glass on top apparently protects them from temperature drops. As long as we don’t sail through ice your plants should be fine. There is some kind of special parchment, which came with the box, to separate different kinds of plants. And in that envelope beneath your box, there is some other paper which greatly helps drying herbs. Or so I was told.”

There was a moment of silence between them, and Jack shifted uneasily.

“I heard it would be much better than carrying plants in a dried ox bladder,” Jack added hopefully.

Stephen regarded him for a moment, his head cocked to the right, as if listening to some distant tune.

“I don’t know what to say,” he then admitted slowly, stressing each word.

“A ‘thank you’ would make a very good start,” Jack grinned.

“Indeed, thank you. It means very much to me.”

“Will you join me for dinner tonight?”

“Yes, certainly. I’d enjoy that very much.”

“Set then,” Jack nodded and looked back at his papers, “I hope you don’t mind, my dear doctor, but I have to direct my attention to less pleasurable affairs now. There are lists that need signing. And I’ll be damned if I sign anything I haven’t gone over. Especially not figures. The accounts of this lovely ship may be a tiring task but still essential. If you excuse me now.”

Jack went back to scraping figures down onto a piece of parchment blotted with ink. He barely looked up to see Stephen leaving the room quietly, and when the door clicked into the lock, he smiled contently and put away his quill.

Jack leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his chest. He looked out of the window without seeing the sea or the sky, the sly smile never leaving his face.

 

Stephen went straight back to his small chamber and the desk that sat there. On it stood the wooden box that had excited him beyond words when he had discovered it. It was 19 by 10 inches, finely crafted with brass hinges and fasteners that kept the glass lid in place. Stephen carefully opened it and took out the parchment. He let his fingers caress the surface before placing it aside. The inside was smooth and dry, the wood sealed by a layer of paraffin wax. Stephen picked it up and turned it in the lamplight. It appeared to have never been used.

“What a fine gift,” he said to himself, “What a splendid gift and nice surprise indeed.”

He placed the parchment back inside and retrieved the envelope. On the upper left corner was a faded stamp in a light blue. Stephen put on his glasses and still had to squint to read it. In the dim light he could make out ‘herba’ and was taken aback by the thought of Jack Aubrey marching into a town with inquiries about the transport and care of herbs.  
Stephen broke the seal and flattened the paper. He shook one of the many papers loose and stared at it for the most part of a minute.

“Marvellous,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he meant the paper or the way it had come to his desk. He skilfully folded one sheet into a herbarium's envelope. Creasing the edges with the nail of his thumb he produced three of that kind, and filled them with what little was left of his lichens.

It was true, he had been in an exceptionally bad mood after he had discovered that sea water had rendered the loot of his last visit on shore useless. The succulents weren’t as bad a loss. He merely had hoped to maybe sell them or cultivate them once he was back on shore. The rats had bitten deep into the flesh of most plants though, and Stephen had been too disheartened to try and find a safer storing place for the remaining ones. The men had tried to coax him into leaving the plants to them, for distilling the alcohol Stephen guessed. He had greatly frowned upon their greed for schnapps and had lectured them about the dangers of diseases carried by rats. The succulents had been thrown overboard to the dismay of both Stephen and the crew.

Stephen placed the envelopes into a drawer and leaned back to look at the box again. He wondered if it really could keep the promises some skilful vender had applied to it. The construction was promising enough, with its delicate ornaments and solid workmanship. His patience was going to be tested in the weeks or maybe months until his next shore leave. Yet he felt strangely content and almost giddy at the prospect of spending the evening with Jack.

Following a sudden notion he hugged the box to his chest before stowing it away. He sat down at his desk again and meant to make an inventory of ointments and medication that needed to be replaced, but he found his mind wandering back to the unexpected gift Jack had made him.

After three items on his list, he caved and fetched the box. He let his hands glide over it, worrying what the next storm might do to it. He felt the heat rising in his face at such childish thoughts, and even more so when he saw Killick standing in the doorway to call him.  
Stephen wrapped the box in a spare piece of cloth and raised his eyebrows indignantly.

“I’m on my way,” he said briskly to Killick, brushing at his clothes, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Stephen slipped into his jacket and followed the muttering steward to the stern cabin. 

 

**Chapter Two, in which Stephen makes a rather strange confession, and Jack has Spotted Dog.**

The stern cabin was lit by as many candles as Jack had holders for. The room was basked in a yellowish light that reflected golden in the discarded glasses on the table. Stephen looked around, surprised that only he and Jack were left of what had started as a merry circle. With all officers and midshipmen gone Stephen felt more at ease. Yet the quiet intimacy struck an unfamiliar chord in him, if not always then that day.

“So, my dear doctor,” Jack said, “Can I persuade you to more wine?”

Stephen shook his head and held his hand over his glass when Jack reached for the decanter.

“I must decline, I’m afraid I already had more than my appropriate share.”

Jack smiled and filled his glass to the brim.

“Nonsense, doctor,” he then cried happily, “Let me refill your glass and make a toast.”

Stephen rolled his eyes but did not take his hand away.

“I haven’t seen you like this in a long time,” he said instead, “Whatever caused it, I’d be more than happy to see it happen again.” It couldn’t have been the wine, Stephen mused, for their last decanter was still half full, and it was only Jack’s third or fourth glass. They had shared wine before, and they had never stopped before having emptied at least three bottles. Which was the exact amount to leave Jack Aubrey flustered.

He let his index finger glide over his upper lip while he watched Jack take a careful sip. The captain was aglow tonight, being in an extraordinary good mood over the whole course of the diner, making more terrible puns than during all meals before. Stephen had accepted all jokes on his behalf with an indignant air and a hinted smile, too glad to retort. His cheeks sported a healthy tint of red from the attention bestowed on him, and he never had failed to stutter something close to a reply when the level of conversation seemed to drop below what he normally would abide.

His fingers were hiding his slow smile as he listened to Jack thinking aloud about where to go to port. He mentioned places all over the world, only pausing to see Stephen’s reaction.

“I was thinking South America,” Jack said and made a long pause.

“South America? That would be nice, to say at least. I’m certain the men would enjoy the chance to stretch their legs. They are always a little restless when the next port is too far away. And I could stock up on medical supplies. I’m in dear need of several things.” Even though he suppressed any excitement in his voice that could hint towards more personal motifs, Jack seemed to know where Stephen’s thoughts were.

“You could go on a plant hunt and search for lichens,” Jack offered nonchalantly, sipping at his wine and watching Stephen over the brim of his glass.

Stephen opened his mouth to reply but the door slammed open and Killick barged in.

“Your dessert,” Killick announced and slammed down two plates.

“Ah!” Jack cried, “Splendid, and just in time!” He waited until Killick had closed the door again, and then nudged one plate towards Stephen who looked flabbergasted.

“Don’t tell me you planned not to share this with everyone,” Stephen managed to gasp out.

“There weren’t enough currants to make a 6 pound one. And I haven’t had any pudding in years,” Jack said by way of apology. He smiled sheepishly before breaking into a big grin and crying: “My dear doctor, you should know me better than this. Those slices are leftovers! And since there wasn’t enough to share with all my men, I decided to share it with you.”

Stephen blushed and took a careful bite. He would have preferred to bite his tongue instead, but Jack seemed unimpressed by the affront and cheerfully dug into his ration. It seemed unwise to press the issue, so Stephen let it slide. He could not suppress the heat in his cheeks though and shifted uncomfortably.

“Stephen,” Jack said after he had indulged half his Spotted Dog, “You haven’t told me if you like the box I got you. Is it useful at all?”

“Oh by all means, it is!” cried Stephen, surprised at Jack’s doubt, “It is such a precious thing, I hardly have the patience to wait until I can use it.”

Jack smiled and leaned back, pudding forgotten.

“All’s well then. I was afraid it was a mistake to have acquired it. You seemed reserved, to say at least.”

“Reserved? I could have kissed you on the spot!”

Jack’s smile vanished from his face only to be replaced with hearty laughter mere seconds later.

“I would have liked that, my dear doctor. To see you this excited.” He smirked, and sipped his wine, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I would have liked that indeed.”

Stephen prayed that Jack did not think much of his unreasonable confession and may see it as another slip due to the wine.

He sat deep in thought, his lips pursed. Jack said nothing to disrupt him as was his custom. When Stephen looked up again, the candles had burned down a good inch and Jack smiled at him. Stephen downed what little was left in his glass, setting it with a clink back on the table, and slid back with his chair.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Jack asked immediately.

“I think I’ll better retire, Jack. Thank you for this enjoyable evening. It was a great relief to see you in such an agreeable mood.”

“Oh,” said Jack and looked a little dismayed, “Oh, well then. If you are tired. I can’t hold you, can I?” He gave a little laugh which sounded slightly weak to Stephen, especially after the mirth Jack had displayed shortly before.

“Just finish this pudding with me,” Jack said, “I had much trouble hiding it.” His face lit up when Stephen nodded, and although he had finished his share he picked up the fork and turned it, catching the candle light. There was a tender expression in Jack’s eyes, something soft and intimate, that made Stephen feel as if spying on his friend. Stephen liked to think the candid affection on Jack’s face was directed at him, and when Jack looked up to caught Stephen’s eyes there was a moment he could believe his assumption.

Stephen excused himself after he had finished his dessert. He went straight to bed, where he lay awake for a long time, listening to the ships dull sounds; the creaking of the wood surrounded him and the sloshing of the waves against the hull finally lulled him to sleep in the small hours of the morning. 

 

**Chapter Three, in which Stephen is quite oblivious and Jack spots a sail at the horizon.**

The ship’s bells rang eight times, and the morning watch took over. Jack already had been awake for half an hour, and since he was rather high up the bells sounded distant to him; he had climbed the Mainmast after inspecting the sails, gazing out on the horizon. It was a clear morning, with a cloudless sky. Jack felt strangely content, his heart about to burst, when he continued his look-out. Only when the sun had risen and the bells struck two, he nimbly climbed down, eyes watery and joints stiff from the wind.

He rubbed his eyes on his sleeve. Upon looking up again, Jack found Mr Pullings watching him from his lookout point further towards the bow, a slight smile on the lieutenant’s face.

“Good morning, Mr Pullings,” Jack said, coming over.  
“Good morning, sir,” Tom Pullings replied and touched his hat.

“You seem upbeat today, if I may say so,” Tom said after a moment of consideration.  
“You may, Mr Pullings,” Jack said, smiling, “You may.”

Before his lieutenant could reply let alone ask, Jack had turned and was striding from the fo´c´sle back to the quarterdeck. There was a little more spring in his step then on the days before, but if the men noticed it, they did not mention it.

Pleased, Jack looked around the deck before he retreated to the stern cabin again. Due to their course towards Cape San Roque the entire room was basked in a golden light by the morning sun. To Jack’s eyes, it was very much alike the soft candlelight that had lit the cabin the night before, although not quite as warming to his heart. He stood by the window for a long time, watching the waves.

At four strikes of the bell, all men rose from their hammocks. The daily tumult began, with men shouting ‘All hands up! All hands ahoy! Rise and shine!’ and with what seemed to the unaccustomed eye as the general clutter of a day at sea. Sixty or seventy pairs of feet trampling up the hatchways did not rouse Dr. Maturin though, who slumbered in his cabin. Neither did the wailing of the pumps, nor Jack when he went by to see if all was well.

Amidst the turmoil Stephen lay deep asleep, blissfully unaware. He awoke barely in time for mass, with his hair askew and the ghost of a dream dancing in his mind. He would have slept even longer than this, waking only because Jack let the bell rang a little longer than customary. Hastily he dressed, not taking the time for a neat shave. He arrived almost late, and thoroughly flustered because of it.

Jack barely resisted smiling at Stephen when he saw the physician arriving on last minute and with a healthy colour to his cheeks. He did however give a curt nod, and proceeded to read from the bible. The deck was crowded with seamen who displayed the blank look of devout concentration, and when Jack looked up from the leather bound bible in his hands he saw Stephen standing slightly aside, head bowed in prayer. It still puzzled him how Stephen managed to arrange his science and his belief. Indeed, sometimes Stephen himself seemed perplexed as to where to tend to – Jack had heard him presenting theories unfit to repeat in any circle unless you intended to stir the listeners. Yet there he stood with closed eyes and folded hands, wrapped in a prayer.

After the service Jack read the Articles of War, which was deeply frowned upon by Stephen. The two of them had discussed the issue more than once in the privacy of the Captain’s cabin, and though Jack understood Stephen’s uneasiness and objection, he insisted on reading the Articles after the divine service. It was a tradition he was not going to break with. The men were used to hear them every Sunday, and Jack hardly saw any damage in reminding them about the laws and customs of the sea.

As soon as he closed service, the men scattered. Stephen remained at his place near the rigging, his brow furrowed.

“I wish you wouldn’t have to do this every Sunday,” Stephen said by way of greeting.  
“I know, yet I cannot answer you in any way that would satisfy you, Stephen. Now tell me, did you have breakfast at all?”

Stephen deeply blushed at this and mumbled something incomprehensible.

When Jack sensed his friend’s discomfort, he quickly added: “For I wouldn’t mind a second breakfast as I was up before the morning watch. I’m feeling rather famished. What do you say, my dear doctor?”

“With all my heart.”

Jack smiled and led the way.

 

They shared bread and jam. If Stephen had watched Jack more closely, he would have noticed that Jack had more coffee than bread. Instead of eating he sat deep in thought, watching Stephen. Once in a while he urged the physician to have another slice of bread, gently nudging the basket towards Stephen.

Oblivious to this, Stephen ate heartily and talked about restocking his medicine chest once they had reached their destination.

“When will we arrive in South America,” he asked between bites.

Jack looked at him for a long time, his chin propped up in his right hand.

“Beg your pardon?” Jack then said, realising he had not listened at all. Stephen smiled gently.

“When will we reach our destination? I asked you how many days do I have to work with what precious little is left? I almost ran out of mercury as well as calomel, and with as many men suffering from the pox as right now I fear there will be shortage all too soon.”

“The pox,” Jack repeated, “Oh, yes, unfortunate. If the wind keeps up like this, we will reach the Cape San Roque within ten days, I daresay.”

“Ten days. Does that mean you plan taking the most direct route?”

“The north-easter is blowing just nicely; I don’t see any reason not to.”

Stephen nodded at this, although he did not seem to be quite satisfied with Jack’s answer. Jack stood up and quickly came back with a diagram.

“It’s not that you can indeed expect the wind to be exactly like in the diagram,” he said and spread the paper on the small table, causing Stephen to hastily pick up his plate, “but we’re in this area now, right here.” He pointed at the map, circling the area between Africa and South America which was clustered with what seemed to be raindrops to Stephen. “Those here,” he pointed to the drops, “indicate the general expected wind directions. See? Although there is no telling just what winds we will find, the direction on the diagram matches the actual winds we face right now.”

“The North-east trades will carry us down to the Cape just fine. Never mind the doldrums on the diagram; in a year like this, the north-easter reach much further south than this.”

Stephen looked at him sceptically. 

“I remember you telling me the summer mists on the Atlantic would not begin before August. Yet we sailed into mists so thick we were trapped for days in what seemed to be night.”

“My dear doctor, that was a rare mistake, something that may happen once, but I surely don’t make the same mistake twice. We’re too far south for mist anyway,” Jack pouted.

Stephen laughed low and rumbling at this, and Jack gazed at him fondly.

Following a sudden urge to touch Stephen, he reached out and brushed over Stephen’s arm. It was a fleeting touch, yet Jack did not know how to explain it, so he picked up the diagram and turned to stow it away. He took more time than he normally would, and busied himself with correcting the position of his books. When he finally turned, Stephen stood next to him, having left his chair minutes ago.

“Oh,” Jack cried, “You gave me such a fright!”

“What is on your mind,” Stephen asked in a low voice, “that troubles you so greatly that you seek my presence and yet try to withdraw yourself from it?”

“I do not…,” Jack began, but stopped when Stephen gently took hold of both his arms. His touch was as soft as a feather, but Jack could feel every one of Stephen’s fingers, even through the thick fabric of his uniform. Stephen rub lazy circles with both his thumbs, a slow, calming movement only interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

Stephen let go of Jack immediately, and Jack, utterly regretting the loss, barked towards the door.

“Come in!”

One of the midshipmen barged in.

“Sir, Mr Pullings spotted sails not too long ago, Sir.”

Jack looked over at Stephen.

“Sails, Sir,” he repeated, “Why wasn’t I informed immediately?” Jack hurried after the midshipman, only turning at the door to gaze at Stephen apologetically.

“Go,” Stephen said, “By all means, go.”

Jack came back shortly after and found Stephen in the notion of leaving the cabin.

“A fine ship, hull-down at the horizon, slightly off our recent course, but I have corrected it and think we can catch her,” he said excitedly.

“A fine prize, I am sure.” Stephen bowed his head. “I have to excuse myself now. If we’re going into battle, if there is the slightest change of it, I fear I must prepare myself. There is too little of everything left in my medicine chest.”

Jack let Stephen go back to the sick bay only with the greatest regret. He glanced at the empty room, and fled its coldness up to the quarterdeck. 

 

**Chapter Four, in which Stephen faces one of his fears and Jack takes a prize**

A dull thunder woke Stephen from an uncomfortable dream that seemed real even in the half-light of the mess deck. He squinted into the room, aware of the sweat on his forehead, his ragged breathing sounding all too loud and hollow. Before he could gather his thoughts, the ghostly dang-dang-dang of the ship’s bell called all hands on deck in a hurry, and Stephen found himself out of his hammock and reaching for his clothes. He had always thought the bell sounded more prominent when not announcing the watches but ringing an alarm for all shipmen to hear. No one stayed asleep. Within minutes, the whole ship was up and alert.  
Stephen, being meticulous in his preparations, was dressed and ready before the last stroke of the bell rang out into the dawn of a new day. After he had lit his lamp, his gaze fell onto the bucket of sand he had dragged into his cabin the evening before. The familiar pang in his chest reminded him of Jack’s excitement at the sight of sails, and their interrupted meal, but more importantly of what another ship in these latitudes meant for him.  
Suffering, at least; death if I’m not quick enough, skilful enough; death if the damage is too much for the human body to bear.  
His instruments were already laid out, his medicine chest carefully rearranged. Another thunder rang, and although he wished for it to be a storm, he knew better. 

Jack stood on the fo´c´sle, his eyes on the ship that was racing towards them. The corvette had all the canvas up she could bear and Jack could hear it strain, even over this distance. He could see her turning, regardless of the wind. She had started firing ten minutes ago, managing accurate hits despite her speed. Jack cursed her gunners, cursed the hits his ship had to take.  
The dawn was breaking, and the French corvette lay half in the dark. Jack could make out her three masts, the topsail already torn from the first counterattack. Still she raced towards them, cannons blazing. She spat orange fire from the faces of her cannons into the timid light of a morning at sea, illuminating her hull. With each blast she gave away her position though, revealing her build and the positions of her guns. Laying almost on the water she was as fast as the devil, and Jack turned to his men as there was not a second to lose.  
“All to her stern,” he cried, “Fire at will! Mr. Pullings, down to the gunner’s deck. Give her a broadside or two.” He winked, his smile sudden and excited.

Tom Pullings nodded and disappeared, and Jack kept on staring at the space where he had been a minute ago until the ship shook angrily as she returned fire.  
The corvette shook under the strain of the wind and the hits, and Jack saw her mizzen crack and fall when the first broadside hit her. She went down in a tumble of sails and rigging and he could not help but smile. Still, he felt the hull shook under him, felt the impact of another cannonball, and was in danger of losing his footing. He hurried back to the wheel, shouting instructions for the Coxswain before running to the gunner’s deck.

The hull vibrated angrily under the strain of Jack’s evasion manoeuvre while Stephen tried to keep steady on both his feet. Still Stephen could hear the splintering of wood when a cannonball hit its target, but now the impacts were few and far between. He allowed himself a small sigh of relief, and smoothed down his hair with a bloody hand. For he first time since the break of day, he looked around and already saw too many wounded.  
Indignant over his own lingering, Stephen pushed up his glasses and bent down to continue his work. With steady hands he extracted several smaller splinters from the leg of an unfortunate seaman, having removed the three largest already, when a noise made him look up.

Jack was standing in the doorway, his shirt soaked in blood, his features dead pale.

“Jack, for Christ sake, sit down,” Stephen cried, hastily applying bandages, “Jack! Sit down!”

“Stephen, I’m…”

“I’m with you in a second, just sit down.” 

When Jack did not comply, Stephen rushed over and shoved him into the nearest chair. His hands came up and he unbuttoned Jack’s waistcoat, frantically searching for the wound.

“Stephen,” Jack said when Stephen’s pale hands touched the warm skin on his neck.

“Not now.”

“Stephen,” Jack repeated and grabbed both of the doctor’s wrists. “It’s not my blood.”

Stephen faltered at those words. He drew back his hands almost immediately, only lingering at the seam of Jack’s jacket, lingering enough to steady himself against the seated man.

“Whose blood,” he croaked, his eyes still on the crimson stains, “Whose blood is it?”

“It’s the blood of a gunner, who regrettably was merely in the wrong spot at the wrong time. I just came from the gun deck; all hell broke loose down there. You won’t believe the damage. They have fine gunners, the French, fine gunners; it’s very distressing.” 

Stephen straightened himself and took a tentative step towards the table which was already cleared. 

“Your skin,” Stephen said in a voice Jack never heard on him, “It is dark with blood. That is why I thought…” He could not bring himself to end the sentence.

“Stephen, it takes more than a small battle, a small but victorious one nevertheless, to… You seem awfully pale yourself, if I might say so. You’re not fainting, are you?”

“No, of course not,” he answered briskly, but Stephen also felt his knees go slightly weak, and he knew he was staggering. He blindly reached for the table, his eyes seemingly unable to move away from Jack, who despite being scaringly blood-soaked was altogether unhurt. His fingers found no steady grip on the slick surface of the examiner’s table, and Stephen resigned to standing slightly hunched, both hands tight around either side of the table. 

“Four dead,” Stephen said when his gaze fell onto the partially dried up blood that covered his own hands and fingers, “Which seems like a miracle, Jack. Eighteen wounded. Mostly from the splinters that ricocheted once we were hit. The usual wounds. Two head gashes that need a bit more attention. Nothing too worrying yet.” He managed a smile that was gone within the blink of an eye. 

Jack stood up, crossing the space between them with two quick steps. 

“Are you absolutely sure you are alright, my dear doctor?” Jack could not help but touch the other man’s cheek. The look in Stephen’s eyes was one Jack never had seen before and he cared not to see it again as long as he lived.  
“Of course I am, Jack,” Stephen replied and Jack took his hand away. 

“I will go now and tell Mr. Pulling to take her over. We will have a fine prize to bring home. She’s a gorgeous eighteen gunner.” Jack turned, padded the door frame, and turned around again.

“Would you join me in the cabin tonight?” he added, his gaze shifting over the room but never meeting Stephen’s eyes.

“I cannot think of anything I would enjoy more,” Stephen replied. 

Jack smiled at this, and hurried to the main deck, to survey the damage and to forget about the way Stephen had looked at him.

He was greeted by a joyful Tom Pullings, and as soon as he saw the corvette with her colours down, his heart swelled and he almost forgot. 

**Chapter Five, in which Stephen embarks on a field trip and Jack comes to a conclusion.**

It had been a pleasant dinner with Stephen, yet Jack could not help but think about the evening again and again; as if something most important had been missing; something that he should have mentioned yet had not been able to think of. It troubled him dearly, and even while he was on his way to the shore, standing in the skiff and facing the opulent greenery, he did not register any details. Stephen, almost impatient with anticipation, seemed far away although he was seated right next to him. Jack could hear him talking about some plant or animal, uttering Latin names with such conviction as if he were citing from the bible. But those words stayed mere shells, their reason and meaning being kept away from Jack to whom they seemed distant and aloof. 

Utterly wrapped in thoughts, Jack did not hear the question, not even when Stephen repeated it. He only looked down when Stephen placed a hand on his arm, and for a moment he noticed how pale the doctor’s skin seemed next to his, even though Stephen spent most of his time on the poop reading or being on a constant lookout for sea birds.

“Will there be time for a short trip inland,” Stephen asked for a third time, looking vaguely concerned.  
“Why, yes, I would think so,” Jack replied half-heartedly. 

The evening had been agreeable indeed. Killick had provided them not only with a lovely dinner but also with the dark Spanish wine Stephen enjoyed so much. Jack knew it was not out of charity but the hope of restocking in South America. After their meal they had played together, a hauntingly tune Stephen had picked, and Jack mused that this melody may be the reason for his dark mood. He would have had preferred a cheery tune, but Stephen had looked at him, and Jack had not had the heart to argue. He had felt sobered by the sad melody, and by the time Stephen had left for his cabin, Jack had felt the same unnecessary regret as he did now.

“Jack.”

Even now, with the sun already firmly on his back, he was trying to remember what it could have been he had wanted to say, yet had not found the words for.

“Jack.”

He looked at Stephen who had risen from his seat and now stood next to him, staggering slightly.

“Stephen, I think you remember what happened the last time you stood up in a rowboat,” Jack chided.

“Yes, and I promised not to do anything like that ever again. Which I won’t, my dear. But we have reached the shore and I’m about to embark, if you will let me.”

Jack blushed slightly. He mumbled unintelligibly, and busied himself with helping Stephen with his equipment. Jack had watched Stephen as he had dragged boxes and cages into the boat, more than he could ever carry at once. Yet Jack had smiled and watched, never chiding the doctor but never lending a hand either. Now he gladly accepted the task of getting them safe and dry on shore.

 

Jack had always found that Stephen was a different man on shore than he was at sea. And he knew that if one was to ask the doctor, he would have gotten a similar reply about Jack himself. But whereas Stephen moved with an ease that he did not possess at sea, Jack felt out of place. His element was the oceans of the world, the small but complete society of a man-of-war. He had his opinions about politics and morality, but not Stephen’s savoir faire. And while he followed Stephen to the camp that the men started to set up, he missed the soft hum of a ship under his feet.

“Will you allow the men to venture into town?”  
“I will have to. We are in dear need of supplies, and the carpenter surely can’t carry out the repairs without one thing or the other.”

Stephen made a face.

“Well, then. Ask the carpenter to bring back some mercury as I will need it to treat their pox, once they are back from their adventures. Will you go too and join them?”

Jack thought about the last shore leave. Stephen had preferred to stay at a small inn, spending his time alone either looking for supplies or at the harbour where he drew into one of his leather-bound notebooks or stared out to the ship.

“I think I rather join you on your expedition.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow, yet gave no reply. He wrote down a list of medical supplies and handed it to Bonden. He gathered his belongings, and after inspecting his tent, he came back with his straw hat and a mixed assortment of boxes and bags. He peered into the sun, put on his hat, and nodded towards Jack.

“I think I’m all set. We can go.”

He grinned when Jack got to his feet, and without another word Stephen went ahead, heartily strutting along a small path of sand that lead from the shore into the dark green heart of the forest.

 

“The trees, Jack, look at the trees! Cocos, fifty to sixty feet high! Poinciana pulcherrima, over there, the shrub with the bright orange-red flowers; the herbaceous perennial must be at least two feet!”

Jack followed him as best as he could, yet he displayed none of the doctor’s excitement, at least not at the sight of yet another shrub or weed or leaf.

“Do you see these trees over there? I doubt I have seen anything similar. Look at their enormous leaves! And the flowers sprouting from the stem, how unlikely. They seem to be some kind of parasite. Careful, Jack, don’t step on the centipede.”

Hastily, Jack jumped to the side. He looked down just in time to see the a slim body vanish between the fallen leaves.

“What was that horrible thing? It had at least 50 feet,” he cried.  
“Fifteen pairs of legs, and additional 5 pairs of spiracles, more likely,” Stephen said, sounding very amused.

Jack looked very stern at this, yet he was pleased to see Stephen move with such energy and grace. He watched Stephen cutting samples and digging out small plants. Sometimes Stephen would hold out his hand, waiting for Jack to accept what ever he had just found, only to pick up the next thing a breath later. Both pockets of Jack’s coat were already filled with twigs and seeds, cut leaves and hard fruits. Most samples however quickly vanished into one of Stephen’s bags. He wore three linen bags slung around his slim shoulders, and held another one close to his breast. Stephen had settled for a manageable number of containers before leaving the camp, Jack noticed to his surprise. 

Jack had spent the forenoon watching Stephen as he had filled nuts into small linen pouches, certain leaves into a leather pouch.

He had stumbled over roots and plants that either curled on the ground like rope or were swung up into the trees like rigging. 

When he came to a small clearing, Stephen had already spread a blanket and reclined on it, chewing on small leaves. He waved towards one of his bags and then fully lay down, his hands crossed over his breast.

“What about you, Stephen,” Jack asked when he discovered Stephen had not left the camp without ensuring a decent lunch, “Are you hungry, my dear doctor?”

“No, not at all. I feel quite complacent. Not hungry at all. What a wonderful spot we have found. Quiet peaceful.”

Jack looked over at the small amount of leaves left in Stephen’s hand. 

“Still, if you want to have something besides,” he gestured towards the leaves again, “I’d be more than happy to share. You packed more than enough for three grown men.”

“I know your appetite when you are on shore, my joy.” 

Jack paused and looked down at the bag and then over to Stephen. There was no malice in his face, just a sadness so soft it could have been Jack imagining it. After gathering a little more then he planned to eat, he sat down next to Stephen, who remained stretched out. His face to the sun, Jack started peeling and cutting the apples, and preparing bread and jam for himself. Whenever he looked over at Stephen, he found the other man with his eyes closed and a hint of a smile on his lips. The mere sounds of the jungle, the birds, the rustling of the leaves, left the naturalist peaceful and radiant. Jack licked the juice from the fruits off his fingers, when Stephen stirred. 

“You were always prone to indulging your sweet tooth,” Stephen said, his eyes still closed. When Jack opened his mouth to speak, he added: “And don’t argue. I can smell the jam from over here.” 

Jack shut his mouth again, looked out into the trees and wondered. He smiled softly when he turned back to Stephen, who now looked at him.

“A man can change his habits, my dear doctor,” Jack said, and fed Stephen a quarter of apple, “A man can change.” 

 

**Chapter Six, in which Stephen receives an answer and Jack takes a prize unlike the one before**

Back from their shore leave, which had ended as soon as the mayor repairs where concluded, Jack had contended himself with drawing a new course, discarding three before settling on a fourth. He had sat over his charts diligently, comparing and altering, and even finishing in good time, even though he had taken more breaks than proper to walk by Stephen's cabin to steal glances of him sitting at his desk. Each time Jack had found Stephen bowed over samples and notebooks, writing down every detail of the findings, every little bit of information he could extract from the myriad of collected specimen he and Jack had lugged back to the boat and onto the ship, miraculously without losses. And each time Jack had smiled and had returned to his cabin, safe for the last, where he stayed at Stephen's door for more heartbeats than he had cared to count. 

Jack prided himself that Stephen had caught him just once, and only after Jack had lingered longer than necessary, thinking about clearing his throat as not to fright his friend, and that was when Stephen had looked over the rim of his glasses and right at him. The ship's surgeon had seemed slightly flustered then as if it was him being caught doing something as silly as hovering at the threshold without coming in. 

“I was wondering whether you would like to have coffee with me,” Jack said before their silence could stretch uncomfortably, “We are all stocked again now, and it would give me such pleasure.”

Stephen looked at him, still sitting, quill poised, the slightest smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“It took you quite a few attempts to complete so simple a task, my dear,” Stephen said not unkindly, and removed his glasses. “But indeed, I would enjoy it very much.” 

“Very well then. In my rooms, at your convenience?”  
“I merely need a few minutes to clear my table. I will call after that, if it suits you.”  
“Absolutely.”

Jack went back to his cabin after leaving Killick with instructions for coffee and that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances, unless there was the definite need for his presence. 

The coffee was no sooner on the table the knock came on the door and Stephen came in, ducking his head slightly and smoothing down his hair with his right hand. 

“If I am delayed, I am sorry,” Stephen said when he saw the china on the table, “But there was so much to store away properly, so I shall be able to continue once I am back. And the box you have given me proves to be marvellous indeed, Jack.” He paused for a moment. “Have you shaved?”

Jack tilted his head towards the coffee pot. “Coffee? It is still piping hot.” 

“Yes, thank you.”

Stephen took the offered cup with a little nod and sat down with a slight smile, wetting his lips before blowing gently into the cup. 

“I am glad the shore leave agreed with you more this time,” Jack said.

“Oh, I did. It was a rather enjoyable stay and I was particularly fond of the time with you, if I may be so honest.”  
“You may.”

Jack looked at Stephen again and took a deep breath. His lips where slightly parted as if he was about to say something, but then he merely breathed out again and looked at the ceiling. 

“You are doing it again,” Stephen stated.  
“I beg your pardon?”

“Thinking of whatever bothersome subject that comes up in hours like these.” 

“I am not,” Jack cried, “thinking of anything bothersome!”

“Your brow is furrowed as if there is something on your mind that troubles you.”

“Nonsense! Enough of this now, I have a new course I wanted to show you and coffee to enjoy. I beg you not to talk of it anymore.”

Stephen sighed. “But only because you asked me.”

“Very well,” Jack said. He reached for the charts he had perused earlier. “What do you think?”

It was mere friendship that had Jack seek Stephen's opinion, because no matter the high esteem he held the doctor in, the course was set, but Stephen looked the charts over without complaint and soon they discussed the upcoming journey. Jack sipped coffee and traced their route on the charts with his hand, laughing at Stephen's squints at the finer markings on them and explaining currents and shallows, and giving reasons for his going one way and not another, in Stephen's eyes altogether equally possible. Stephen had a look on his face that Jack was especially fond of, and they sat close when Jack explained his reasons for passing one port in favour of another, reaching over Stephen's arm to get hold of another chart, feeling the other man's body heat despite his cabin being warm to begin with.

When he poured the last of the coffee into Stephen's cup, his eyes had a tone rather different from the joviality they had just displayed, and Jack was not only quieter but seemed wistful. 

“It is not trouble, my dear doctor, that makes me seek your presence. Not trouble at all.” Jack busied himself with his papers to escape the look on Stephens face. A look that must have been disapproving in Jacks mind, and quite unlike the soft fondness and surprise he would have found upon looking up. 

“I only find myself, well. To be honest, I lack the words. I've never been someone to shy away when it comes to, well. Courting, I assume.”

“Jack, what are you trying to tell me?” 

Jack would have liked to believe that he heard a smidgen of hope in this, but there was a rushing in his ears, so they could very well not be trusted. 

“I just assume that, oh, you know what they say, 'what the hearts wants, the will chooses...'”  
“'And the mind justifies,' yes, I do know.”

Jack played with his cuffs.  
“Well, Jack, what do you mean to say? It is rather undecipherable as of now.”

“Actually, it is 'what the heart loves,' if I remember correctly,” Jack said. 

“Jack.”  
“You know I love you dearly, you do know that, do you not?”

Sobered, Stephen bristled. “Of course I do! At least I hoped you had some sort of affection for me, as I do for you, but I hardly see what this might have to do with...”

“It might be just the thing you mistook for trouble.”

Stephen paused. 

“Jack, you can speak clearly.”  
“I thought I was. Well, it took me a while to admit that indeed I made a choice, perchance longer ago than I in a quiet hour would have perceived, and yet it is with incredible difficulty that I can speak to you about it.”

“Oh, for God's sake”, Stephen cried and leaned over, pressing his lips against Jack's briefly. He seemed surprised at it himself when he straightened up again. “Please tell me I did not read you wrongly and made an utter fool of myself.”

Jack laughed, loud and relieved. 

“No, but I am the fool for I was certain you would at least chide me or, as it worst, leave the cabin at once.”

“You insufferable man,” Stephen exclaimed.

“One you might share the cabin with nevertheless, I shall hope?” Jack took Stephen's hand, holding it softly, and while Stephen looked at how Jack brushed over his knuckles with his thumb, he did not pull his hand away. 

“You know we can't. But I would very much like staying longer.”  
“There is always hope,” Jack said and smiled.

He pulled Stephen closer to kiss him again, vigorously this time, without holding back because he had finally said what he should have for quite some while, or at least had said most of it. He had surely attempted to say most of it and he was certain Stephen had understood, if the way he kissed back could be any indicator for it, hands in Jack's hair and at his neck, kissing him more passionately than Jack could have dreamed about had he dared to.

And Jack was certain in his heart about the music they would choose that night, something intertwining and soft, something that would combine the notes of their instruments to something greater which would raise them to heights they could not possible reach alone. 

When Stephen slipped nimble fingers under Jack's waistcoat and let his hand rest on the cotton shirt next to his heart, Jack thought that they had the evening still ahead of them as well as the night and the need for their instruments. And he was never more pleased about this than at that moment.


End file.
